Slow Dollar
Contents ( 23)
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Glossary
FORWARD
I was introduced to the carnival world by my cousin Brandy, with it and for it for twenty-five years, and I am forever grateful. The books she lent, the inside stories she told, and all the jackpots she cut up with me were invaluable. If I learned more from my independent research than she intended, if my totally fictional Ames Amusement Corporation doesn’t exactly conform to her own “Sunday schooler” standards, I hope she’ll forgive me and understand the needs of the story I wanted to tell.
As always, Judge Deborah Knott’s courtroom behavior owes much to the advice of District Court Judges John W. Smith, Shelly S. Holt, and Rebecca W. Blackmore of the 5th Judicial District Court (New Hanover and Pender Counties, North Carolina). Unfortunately, they have no influence at all on her out-of-courtroom behavior.
For the uninitiated, I have included a glossary of carny terms at the back of this book.
Carnivals arc pure Americana: the glitz and flash of colored lights, the fried-food-on-a-stick, the cotton candy, the “step right up-win a prize” pitches. If it’s summer, here’s probably one playing somewhere near you even as you read. Put down this book, turn off the television, load up any available kids, and go find one now. Build a memory for the children or for yourself before the carnival disappears into our past.
PROLOGUE
EARLY MAY
BRAZOS HARTLEY
The back door of the eighteen-wheeler had been pushed up about eight inches from the bottom and one of the side doors was open wide in an attempt at cross ventilation. An oscillating fan moved air around the cavernous interior, but the south Georgia night was so hot and muggy that the fan was having almost no effect.
Beyond odd pieces of furniture stacked on one side, Brazos Hartley hunched over a laptop computer screen at the rear of the trailer. The young man had stripped to the waist but sweat dripped down his back and arms. It turned the snake tattooed the length of his right arm into something glistening and alive as he tapped the keys.
Bare, low wattage light bulbs hung by both open doors to decoy night-flying insects. At the computer, a rusty gooseneck lamp illuminated the keyboard and spot-lighted the green marbleized fountain pen that lay across the top row of his function keys. As he typed, a stray moth fluttered up into the lamp, showering gray dust on the keys. He caught it and mashed it between his fingers, then wiped his fingers on his pant leg before picking up the pen by its slender barrel to examine it closely again. He scraped away a fleck of old, dried ink from the shining point, screwed the cap back on, and returned to the eBay listing he was composing: